


The Magician's Nephew

by MissWoodhouse



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Everything Still Goes to Hell in a Handbasket, magic is legal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 18:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14195100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWoodhouse/pseuds/MissWoodhouse
Summary: In which staunch primogeniture, magical inheritances, and bitter dragon lords make for bad combinations.Or, in which magic is legal, but Merlin still has to hide





	1. A Beginning

In another world – in _this_ world, magic is never outlawed.  In this world, Balinor never has to flee.

 

He still finds Hunith, though, because of course he does.  Because Balinor is a Dragon Lord, and young noblemen are bound to have their scrapes and adventures; bound to find a hayloft and sow some wild oats.

 

Or rather, Balinor is the son of a Dragon Lord – for such titles are never passed down until the father’s death.  And here’s the thing about magic and inheritance: it doesn’t always work the way you want.

 

The noblemen of Albion, across the many centuries, have always held a fondness for primogeniture – an obsession.  The first son, the first _legitimate_ son, shall inherit it all.

 

Magic never cared about _legitimate_.

 

In this world, Balinor never has to flee, but Hunith does.

 

\---

 

In this world, Merlin grows up in a tiny little cottage, in a tiny little village, in the borderlands of Camelot and Essetir.  It isn’t called Ealdor.

 

In this world, Merlin learns to hide his magic, but in this world, that rule is just for him.

 

It goes like this, see: the powers of a Dragon Lord are passed down father to son, an inheritance. Father to son, father to son, always the firstborn – well, always the eldest.  The eldest surviving.

 

In other families, the bastards don’t count.  They get a cottage, a position on the estate, perhaps a small tract of land.  Nothing really.  In other families, inheritances happen on paper.  In other families, wild oats might be allowed to go to seed.

 

But the Dragon Lords, they weed them out.

 

\---

 

In the moonless night of one world, Nimueh trades a life for a life, a mother’s death for a child born, and the Goddesses’ sense of balance is appeased.

 

In the hazy dawn of this world, Gauis trades a life for life, an infant saved for an infant granted, and the Goddesses’ sense of mercy is appeased.

 

One way or another, it is deemed a just bargain, and so the Once and Future King comes to be.

 

\---

 

In this world, the Old Religion flourishes, and the Priestesses gather, and a little girl named Morgana grows up knowing that her magic is a gift.

 

\---

 

In this world, a dragon lurks beneath Camelot’s Citadell, but in this world, the dragon wears only a ceremonial chain.  In this world, the Great Dragon is a counselor, but instead of Merlin he tells his riddles of the two-sided coin straight to the king.

 

Well – he tells Merlin too, but Merlin won’t listen.  In this world, Merlin has been warned to stay well away from Dragons.  They call out to him – even as a child, this powerful warlock – as they soar far overhead across the skies.

 

Hunith catches him calling back to them once, and she screams until she is blue in the face and weeping and terrified, and he learns that he is never to do it again.

 

Merlin learns to ignore the voices – to scream “Go away!” in his head whenever they try to make contact with him, even though sometimes, the thing he really wants to cry out is “Why me?”

 

Merlin learns to control his powers – not to use them, never to use them if he can help it, but to keep them in check.  To do simple, secret spells, that no one might catch him at, when he has to do something to release all the energy building up inside.

 

His magic books are legal, but they are also a secret, and one that no one can know Hunith’s son has.

 

\---

 

In this world, there comes a time when Merlin must go to Camelot, when the small village can hold him no longer, and Hunith knows she must send her son into the belly of the beast.

 

In this world, she sends him to stay with Gauis.

 

In this world, he pretends to be his nephew – or grandnephew?  great nephew? Something vaguely anonymous, with degrees like second cousin and thrice removed.  Something no one will bother to look into too closely.  The sort of distant relation where you might convincingly hide someone’s bastard son.

 

In this world, it is the court sorcerer who tells Merlin to keep his head down, and not the physician. In this world, Merlin is no better at staying out of trouble.  Always, the eyebrows are the same.

 

\---

 

In this world, Morgana comes to Camelot older.  She comes wiser too.

 

In this world, when Gorlois dies – for there always will be battles – Morgana is sent not to the Citadel, but to the Isle of the Blessed.  There, the matriarchs care not that she is the king’s natural daughter, but single her out anyhow, for the strength of the magic that flows through her veins.

 

In this world, Merlin is the ward, and Morgana the apprentice – the bumbling country errand boy and the High Priestess-in-training, come to learn the art of magic from the right hand of the king.

 

In this world, Merlin hates her, right from the start.

 

Gauis is meant to be _his_ teacher – Merlin’s!  He has left behind his village, left behind his mother, endured sneers and taunts as he dashes through the lower town, running errands all over the citadel, hiding who he really is, all for this.  So that Gaius may teach him magic by night, in secret.  It doesn’t seem fair, that this upstart girl, with her pristine gowns and her smooth, unblemished hands, who eats at high table while he stands with the servants, should take all this from him too.

 

The first night she’s there, he sleeps in the stables. Gaius has a proper pupil now; he won’t go home – Gauis’ is always home – and beg to have his lessons in the dark.

 

Arthur finds him there the next morning and says if he’s going to sleep there, he damn well better muck out the stalls to earn his keep.  Arthur saw Gaius’ face when Merlin didn’t come home last night – for that, Merlin deserves everything he’s going to get.

 

\---

 

This is how Merlin becomes Arthur’s manservant – not by saving him in a brilliant feat of reckless magic, but quietly, by having the poor sense to mope about where Arthur can see him.  It’s how he becomes Arthur’s friend as well.

 

It’s a favor to Gauis, Arthur tells himself.  The man’s poor, charity case nephew has been replaced by someone who’s actually capable of magic – finding the boy a new position is only doing the man a good turn. And Arthur never forgets that he owes Gauis everything – that Gauis the only reason he ever came to be.

 

But perhaps, it also has something to do with the refreshing way Merlin talks back to Arthur.  In every world, he’s the first one who has.

 

\---

 

Balinor is childless. His offspring are a graveyard of buried hopes, stillborns.  To spite his parents, he names them all Emrys – Immortal. After the first.

 

Sometimes, it seems, the Goddesses’ scales tip. They claim a life for a life for a life for a life.

 

In this world too, Balinor grows bitter.  And, laying low in his father’s shadow, he learns to wait.


	2. A Pyre

One day, when Merlin has been some twelvemonths in Camelot, when Morgana has passed her first winter in the Citadel and Arthur’s new manservant has learned to polish a breastplate, one of the dragon lords dies.

 

A pyre is built, in the great square before the castle, a crowd gathers, King Uther speaks.  And in this world, the Great Dragon rises and kindles his master’s way to the great beyond.

 

That’s when the trouble starts.

 

Balinor has been Dragon Lord for less than a sennight.  He might have done it days ago, he might have waited for the next fresh moon.  But Balinor knows the power of ceremony – knows that this moment is nigh-on his coronation.  From the ashes of one generation rises the phoenix of the next.

 

The flame has barely enveloped the pyre when he calls out, in an unfamiliar tounge. The dragon turns its head, still breathing fire, and innocent bystanders are caught up in flames.

 

The newly minted Dragon Lord hops on Kilgharrah’s back, and with one last triumphant smoke ring, spirits himself away.

 

Gauis and Morgana work quickly to douse the flame, but for most of it's victims, they are far too late.

 

\---

 

Uther calls a council, demands magical assistance from the dragon lords, the sorceresses, the druids. They all shrug their shoulders – “There is little we can do.”

 

“To challenge another household would mean clan-war.  And still, there is nothing I can do to break another dragon lord’s bond.”

 

“Dragons may be of the Old Religion, but over their deeds, we have no more control than o’er the Triple Goddess herself.”

 

“The one you seek is Emrys. For only Dragon’s blood may purge this curse.”

 

\---

 

Emrys.  Emrys.  Suddenly the name is everywhere – the druids’ whispers, the priestess’ chanting, spelled out in burning letters on a cornfield that might have been a whole village’s winter stores.

 

Uther sends Arthur and his knights to search out the fellow – this enigma.  Be he their savior or the icon of this deranged defector, it is better to suss him out now.

 

The trouble is that nobody knows where to begin.

 

\---

 

Merlin shows Arthur to a graveyard.

 

Emrys, son of Balinor. Emrys, son of Balinor.  Emrys. Emrys. Emrys, son of Balinor.

 

All stillborns.

 

Looking at the headstones, they think they begin to understand.


	3. A Planning Session

Arthur, whatever people – Merlin, by people he means Merlin – might think, is not stupid.  He knows that the wisest thing to do with a puzzle like this is to bring it to Morgana.

 

“Right,” says Morgana, when Arthur’s tale is done, “So Emrys is Balinor’s son.  That makes sense.”

 

“But Balinor’s son is dead.”

 

“Dead several times over, it would seem.”

 

Arthur doesn’t understand how Morgana can sit there so calmly, when his head is spinning with the consequences of this revelation.   “So what are we meant to do, bring one back?”

 

“Arthur – Arthur, that is not how magic works.” Sometimes, Morgana talks to him as if he were a child. “Even if I could bring the child back to life, briefly, it would be an infant, by the dates on those headstones, not full grown warrior.  You don’t keep growing up after you’re dead.”

 

“Right, right…of course.” Arthur slumps off to the window, to glare out over the lower town.

 

“You and Merlin still did well.  You learned why he’s doing these things. Grief is a powerful force, and now we know that’s what’s driving him.”

 

“But none of it matters, if it also means he can’t be stopped.” Arthur groans in frustration. “Only Emrys can defeat him, and Emrys, apparently died in the nursery.”

 

“But you don’t know that.” A young woman emerges from Morgana’s closet.  Arthur thinks her name might be Gwendolyn – Morgana’s maid.  He’s seen her, of course, but he’s never spoken to her before.

 

“Of course we do.”

 

“You know there are however many dead Emryses in that graveyard, but maybe there’s another one who lived.  You wouldn’t see a head stone for that, and it happens all the time in the lower town.”

 

“What babies disappearing? Is that how you peasants do things?”

 

“Arthur!” Morgana cuts in at the slight to her maidservant.

 

“It’s alright, milady. I meant naming infants the same until one of them lives.  There are mothers in the lower town who…”

 

“I’m sorry.”  Arthur turns to go.

 

“Wait!”  Arthur stays, just before the door, as Gwynn – is that her name? – takes a breath.  “You had a point.  I mean about the other thing – I mean if Balinor had a living son, you’d think we’d know about it, unless…Not that it’s any different among the gentry, mind you, but – Young woman goes away to stay with a cousin for a while and ‘Oh look, the cousin’s had a baby!’ ”

 

“Or is sent to the care of the sisterhood,” adds Morgana, “Plenty of little girls without a drop of magic.”

 

Arthur finishes, finally catching on, “It’s the same story with bastards anywhere, I suppose.”

 

\---

 

Arthur does not tell Merlin. He has the sense – from Gauis, mostly – that Merlin’s father might not have been in the picture, and while its laughable to think Merlin might be heir to a Dragon Lord, he’d rather not poke at any sore spots.  Especially not with sticks that have Morgana’s name attached.

 

Besides, the King seems to think that druid prophecy about dragon’s blood and the purging of a curse means Emrys has got to be sacrificed in some sort of ritual, and while Gaius says that’s hogwash, Morgana thinks the high priestess might be willing to fake something, just to keep Uther off her back.  And Nimueh always gives Arthur the shivers.

 

Instead, they set out on a journey, to Balinor’s ancestral estate.

 

\---

 

When she hears what Arthur’s planning, Morgana insists that she come too.  She’s a sorceress in training, after all, not some princess locked in a tower, playing dress-up.  The King would rather she didn’t, of course, but it isn’t as if Gauis is spry enough to go gallivanting about the country, and – well, Uther wasn’t exactly keen on letting Ygraine know the real reason he wanted to keep the young woman safe at home.

 

And so they set off: Arthur and Merlin, and Morgana and Gwen. And a handful of knights that none of the former paid terribly much attention.  That was the concession to Uther – after all, just because Balinor hasn’t been seen lurking around the family keep, doesn’t mean he’s left it entirely abandoned either.


	4. A Clue

Balinor is not at home. No one else is either.

 

He and his men have been and gone, leaving nothing of value, and little else besides.  One might almost imagine he’s magicked the contents away with him, though Arthur insists it’s more likely the peasants have been looting since his departure.  After all, no one could have that much power, could they?  They go on a reconnaissance mission – well, the girls do – asking questions of the nearby villagers and keeping an ear out for talk of any fatherless sons in the neighborhood.  Arthur leads Merlin on a mostly-pointless scavenger hunt through the castle, looking for ‘clues’ whatever those might be.

 

Gwen turns up a powerful little sorcerer – scrawny little thing, thinks Arthur, and dismisses him at first glance – who knows nothing of his presumed-dead father except that he was a magic-user and left Gilly a talisman ring that glows gold as his eyes every time he casts a spell.

 

Morgana finds Gwaine, who seems a more promising fighter, except it turns out the magic he was referring to was more of the back-stairwell-of-an-inn variety and “I have no father” was a statement of renunciation rather than of birth.

 

Arthur turns up a fine collection of cobwebs and feels very clever in deducing from the new growth on some scorch-scars about how long its been since Balinor and his Dragon were last here.

 

Merlin, as he is wont to, stumbles across their only find of real significance, while remaining the only one who’s been kept uninformed about half the details of their quest. Typical.

 

“Arthur, I – I think I’ve found him.”

 

“What?”

 

“Well, sort of – I mean he’s almost certainly dead by now, or very, very ancient but I’ve maybe, possibly, found him.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Emrys, you clotpole. Isn’t that who we’re meant to be looking for?”

 

“You found Emrys,” repeats Arthur, voice dripping with skepticism. “And he’s probably dead. What did you do, stumble across an old man moldering away in the library?”

 

“No.  For your information, I found an old _book_ moldering away in the library.  And Emrys is in the book.”

 

“He’s in the book. Did you find the family Bible, or…?”

 

“He’s in this chronicle, Arthur.  It tells the story of this powerful wizard child, see, and there’s something about Dragons and a castle, and a warrior king named Vortigern.  Or possibly his title was Vortigern.  Someone’s translated Welsh into Latin into Saxon into Latin again here and the end result is – well, its rather unintelligible.”

 

“Before I die of boredom, please, Merlin.”

 

“Well, on reflection, he’s probably just a namesake or something but…”

 

“Merlin!”

 

“So Vortigern is trying to build a castle, see, only it keeps crumbling down.  And rather than moving on to the hillside next door like any sensible person would, he decides he’s got to have his hill or die on it, or…something.  Only it isn’t him who’s going to die on it because this soothsayer tells him he’s go to find a boy born fatherless, and he decides – of course – that he’s just got to find some little bastard kid and then figure out the appropriate sacrifice ritual for killing him.  Only the boy he picks up goes all prophet-like too and tells him the reason the castle is falling down is that there’s a pool of water underneath the hill, and once they dig down and they drain the pool, they have to dig down again, where there are two very large dragons trapped who fight each other every night.  And the only way to stop the walls from crumbling is to kill one – but he has to kill the right one, because if he kills the wrong one, his kingdom or his crown, or something like that, will be cursed.”

 

“So what happens?”

 

“Vortigern kills one dragon, builds his castle, tries to master the other one. That goes poorly for him, which is to say he probably ends up roasted for his troubles, and you know, I don’t know that I’d call that much of a loss.”

 

“And Emrys is?”

 

“The boy, I think. The one who tells him the dragons are there.  Disappears around the time the Dragon does, which is to say, around the time Vortigern kicks the bucket, so...”

 

“So we’re looking for a man who lived how many centuries ago, exactly?”

 

“Not sure.  But, get this, the castle is called Dinas Emrys – or well, I guess technically that makes it a fort, but the point is I’ll bet its still standing.  And where better place is there to look for a Dragon Lord who’s pissed at the world over the death of his son Emrys – or sons, I guess?  But ‘sons Emrys’ just doesn’t sound right, you know?”

 

“Merlin.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Stop talking would you? - And where are we supposed to find this castle anyway?...Merlin?…Merlin!”

 

“You said to stop talking, Arthur.”

 

 

\---

 

The answer, it would seem, is far, far away.  In the back-woods of Wales.  And Arthur has never been a terribly pleasant traveler.

 

“Remind me why I listen to you Merlin?”

 

“Because I’m generally right?”

 

“No – that’s Morgana. Who’s generally insufferable about it too – so _don’t_ think that’s a compliment. You, generally, are just lazy. Which is why I am absolutely bewildered that you’re leading us on a wild goose chase to the middle of nowhere.”

 

“Because I’m right. Obviously.”

 

"You've never been right a day in you life!"

 

"Oh is that right?"

 

“Oh, Triple Goddess!  Gwen, if those two don’t stop bickering, I swear, I’ll trap them in that pit underneath the castle and they can duke it out for eternity like the dragons while you and I get to have all the fun defeating Balinor.”

 

“That's ridiculous Morgana!"  Even fighting with her is a marked improvement in Arthur's behavior.  "No one can defeat him until I've tracked down Emrys. The druids said.”

 

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be happy to lend me a hand with you as soon as _we've_ found him.”

 

Grumbling, Arthur rode out to the head of their party and finally, it was blessedly quiet.


	5. A Cavern

They come upon Dinas Emrys late one evening, as the sun begins her descent beyond the horizon and the sky behind the ruins turns from blue to golden-orange-pink.  It would be dangerous to approach further, and yet still more dangerous to spend the night exposed, lest their quarry spies them and shifts from the hunted to the hunter overnight.  It is Merlin – of course it is – who finds the cave.

 

“Arthur – I think I found something!”

 

“Not again, Merlin - we haven’t yet finished the last errand you stumbled upon! And what have I told you about shouting my name to the high heavens when you’re meant to be being sneaky?”

 

“When we’re meant to be being sneaky.”

 

“Very good, Merlin. That’s what I just said.”

 

“No, you said ‘you’re’ as in just I’m meant to be being sneaky, but you’re meant to be being sneaky as well.”

 

“Yes, and?”

 

“So why do you get to shout and I don’t?”

 

“Merlin!”

 

“See, there you go again!”

 

This, of course, is when Morgana appears.

 

“If you two are quite finished alerting every living creature within a five mile radius to our presence…”

 

Arthur protests, “Surely we weren’t that loud.”

 

“I don’t know.  Gwen, what would you say?  Five mile radius?  Three?  Ten?”

 

“Oh, definitely ten, my lady.”

 

As the ladies dissolve into giggles, the knights trickle their way over, and Arthur begins to steam, Merlin cuts back in, “Well, since his royal highness has alerted half the neighborhood to our presence – ”

 

“Hey!”

 

“– we might all like to duck in here and out of view?”

 

Gwen seems less than enthused, or at least cautious. “Do we have any idea what’s inside this cave? There might be a bear living inside, or wolves, or…”

 

“Or Balinor,” adds Arthur. “I mean, goodness know whether that ruin up there is habitable or not.”

 

“Well, Morgana can check, right?”

 

“Merlin!”

 

“With magic – I mean! Gaius must have taught you a spell for that, right?”  Merlin sends out a silent prayer to the Triple Goddess that he had.  Merlin knew for a fact that the spell existed – he himself had learned it from Gaius, and used it before calling the others to the cave, but was only just realizing how awkward that might be to explain his way around if Morgana didn't know the spell.

 

Luckily she does – thank the Goddess – so after the coast is deemed clear, the four young travelers and their escort of knights make their way into the mouth of the cave. The cave turns out to be more like a tunnel, and after a spirited debate about how far to venture inside, they settle just far enough inside to be out of view from the entrance, but not so far back as to be overly concerned about a cave-in.  Tomorrow, Arthur promises, they will scout the rest at first light.

 

\---

 

That night, as Merlin drifts off, he hears a voice again, as he has not heard since the Great Dragon left the castle.  This is a different voice, though, not deep and rumbling like a river’s roar, but quieter, brighter, like a babbling brook.  And babble the voice does, incessantly, all through Merlin’s dreams. He knows not what the voice is saying – he thinks perhaps that the voice scarcely knows itself – but it calls to him.  And, half lost in slumber, Merlin obeys.

 

\---

 

The next morning, Gwen awakes, to find Merlin gone.  Assuming he is already up and about the day’s work – and isn’t that a switch – she pays it little mind as she begins to go about hers.  But when she does not find him scrounging for berries, nor gathering firewood, nor even by the stream where she thinks she might bring some washing later, Gwen begins to worry.

 

Morgana, Arthur, and the knights are awake by the time she returns to the cave, and still, Merlin is nowhere to be found.

 

Arthur and the knights split up to search the surrounding area, while Gwen and Morgana are left waiting in the cave with strict instructions “not to wander off.” And, as Morgana happily defends to herself, they don’t.  They just walk a little bit further into the cave, and then a little bit further, and then a little bit further still.  But they're still inside the cave, so there is absolutely no wandering going on here at all.  Morgana even conjures a magical light to float along with them, so they can see where they are going, and Arthur and the men will be able see how far – or rather, how close – they are. 

 

Eventually, when they’ve made their way so far inside the cave, that Gwen thinks they must be nearly underneath the fort, the tunnel opens up into a large, circular cavern.  And off to the side, still snoring, and curled up around a small-ish rock, is Merlin.

 

Or, on second thought, perhaps it isn't not a rock.  It's certainly grey enough, and speckled, and pitted, but perhaps it's a little too round, a little too smooth.  Even Morgana has only seen rocks like this by the seaside – and there, only far smaller – the sort of rocks that one might call sea-eggs.


	6. A Hatchling

There’s something peaceful, something almost sacred about the way Merlin is curled around the rock-egg. Something that forbids disruption. Morgana sends Gwen to fetch a blanket and watches over him while she waits for Gwen’s return.  Then, they return to the mouth of the cave together, in silent agreement that they are standing guard – against what, they do not know.

 

When the knights return to regroup, Morgana pulls Arthur aside and whispers, “We found him.”

 

“What? Morgana, you were meant to – ”

 

“Shhhh!  Honestly, Arthur, would a bit of discretion kill you? Now come with me.”

 

She jerks her head towards where Gwen is waiting, and Arthur follows, hissing, “Morgana, you were meant to wait in the cave.”

 

She smiles back, “We did,” and leads him onwards.

 

\---

 

As they journey further back into the cavern, Arthur hears a rumbly cracking noise, although Morgana assures him there is no danger of a cave-in.  As they reach the chamber where Merlin is – the lazy sod – still sleeping, he understands why.  The egg-rock- _thing_ that Merlin’s curled up around is beginning to crack.  Personally, Arthur thinks the best course of action would be to wake Merlin up and get him away from whatever is hatching, but Morgana won’t let him any nearer.

 

So they watch.  And wait.  And eventually, a scaly little snout pokes out and nuzzles Merlin, who finally starts to stir.  Then, with a quick shake of its head, the creature spreads its wings and bursts out of the shell.

 

It’s a small, white, winged-lizard.  No, a dragon, Arthur corrects himself.  Merlin, the fool, has just gone and hatched himself a baby dragon – as if they weren’t all on a quest to hunt down the bastard son of a dragon lord. Is Arthur the only one thinking about how suspicious this is going to look?  Oblivious as always, his manservant.  How in the Goddess’ name are they meant to keep this one from the knights?

 

\---

 

“Hello,” says the little voice from last night, “My name’s Aithusa, what’s yours?”

 

“I’m Merlin,” he responds, still groggy with sleep, so it comes out more like, “Mmmmmmm-Mer-li…”

 

“Very good! You are, indeed, Merlin,” says a teasing voice that sounds like Arthur, “Although in this instance, you might perhaps have gone with utter imbecile.”

 

And that’s not right, “Wasn’t talking to you.”

 

“Well who were you talking to then?”

 

“Her!”  Certain that this should be obvious, Merlin opens his eyes and comes face to face with, well, Her - scaly snout, leathery wings, and all. “Oh.”

 

“Yeah,” says Arthur, “Oh.”

 

“I think her name’s Aithusa?”  Merlin offers.

 

Arthur does not seem reassured.  “Really? And how - may I ask - on earth, do you know that?”

 

“She told me,” said Merlin, with a shrug.

 

“The infant dragon told you her name?  In your dreams, I suppose or…?”

 

“Yeah,” says Merlin, shiftier than he means to be. “Dreams, sure.  Something like that.”

 

“Do dragons speak to you often in your dreams?”

 

Merlin tries not to look Arthur in the eyes.

 

“They do, don’t they!” taking Merlin’s lack of response for the hesitant affirmation it is, Arthur rounds on him.  “And you didn’t think that was something worth mentioning? Maybe?  I don't know, while we were riding all across the country tracking a Dragon Lord!”

 

To tell the truth, Merlin hadn’t really thought about it. Ignoring the voices is practically second nature after all these years, and until last night, he hadn’t heard a peep from one in ages, so it isn’t terribly surprising he’s never quite made the connection.

 

And besides: “Well I don’t usually listen to them, do I?”

 

Arthur goes pale, “What?”

 

“Focus, Arthur,” Morgana takes over the questioning.   “Merlin – Merlin, look at me.  Do you think you could listen to track Balinor’s dragon now?”

 

“It’s got nothing to do with tracking them,” Merlin says, put out by how put out Arthur's getting.

 

“What do you mean by that?

 

 He sighs.  Well, in for a penny and all that, “It isn’t like Morgana’s scrying-glass – I can’t go searching for them, or at least, I wouldn’t know how, if I could.  They just sort of talk to me.  When they’re around.  I hear them in my head, and its all I can do not to tell them to shove off and leave me alone.”

 

“Well, why don’t you?”

 

“My mother told me not to. Said not to let anyone know I could hear them, not even the dragons.  So I ignore them mostly.  Hadn’t even thought of it in months, probably not since…”

 

“Since Balinor and his Dragon left the castle, I’d imagine.” Yep. Arthur is definitely still displeased, then.

 

“I was going to say since last winter.”

 

“But that was months before Balinor…you know.”  Ever sensible, their Gwen.

 

“I don’t know,” says Merlin. “I suppose since I wasn’t answering, he eventually gave up.”


End file.
